It's funny what things will spark a vivid memory.
I'm sitting here watching the blizzard that's burying Maryland, and not really thinking of much, and I go to make a cup of hot chocolate. With a couple of feet of snow on the ground, no sign of any snow plow or bucket loader, we're pretty much stuck here for the duration. I guess we'll have a heck of a long day digging out. So I open the cabnet and what do I see?
Ovaltine.
For some reason Karen bought a canister of Ovaltine, and I make a cup and memories come back. When I was a kid, Ovaltine sponcered kids shows in radio and TV, like the Captain Midnight show. You could even save up the paper labels and send in for your secret decoder ring that glowed in the dark. Those were the days people were a little more self reliant, and if it snowed really deep, you put on tire chains. Every man back in those days kept a set of tire chains down the basement, just in case.
One winter bizzard when I was a kid, we got hit really hard, and dad went down the basement and got the chains. Out in the snow, we jacked up the old Pontiac Star Chief, (well, I jacked and dad watched the how much the tire came up) and when the tire had a bit of clearence under it dad put the chains around it. All was going well untill the rubber ring with the s-hooks broke.
I looked at dad, wondering what we were going to do, but dad didn't seem disturbed. He told me to go and get the roll of twine in the kitchen drawer. When I got back he'd taken out his little Case, and was whittling down a stick till it was about as long as he wanted. It was a pretty sturdy stick, and he'd notched around and broke it off just where he wanted. Then he took the twine.
He peeled off a very long length of it, and cut it off and made a big loop. Then he folded the loop in half, then in half again. Then he twisted it up slowly and carefully, untill he had a three twisted strand loop of jute twine. He ended up using that to secure the s-hooks that take up the slack on the tire chains. He put the half foot long stick thoough the twine, and twisted it untill he had the chains snugged. Then he took two short pieces of twine and tied the stick in place as it held the s-hooks. Dad ended up fixing on his tire chains with a worn little Case peanut, and jute twine.
Afterwards, mom made us a hot cup of chocolate Ovaltine.
I hadn't thought of that in decades, but sitting here looking at the blizzard that they say is a record since 1922, and tasting the cup of Ovaltine, it brought it all back like it was just last week. The image of dad reaching in his pocket while kneeling there in the snow, and taking out his little bone handle knife, just came up so strong. A Case peanut, some jute twine and a stick, and dad had that Pontiac moving. To me it seemed a miracle, but to dad it was just making do for the moment. And a small cutting tool let him do just that.
I think after I finish this cup of Ovaltine, I'll go round up my pocket knives and make sure they're all sharpened up and ready to go. You never can tell.
I'm sitting here watching the blizzard that's burying Maryland, and not really thinking of much, and I go to make a cup of hot chocolate. With a couple of feet of snow on the ground, no sign of any snow plow or bucket loader, we're pretty much stuck here for the duration. I guess we'll have a heck of a long day digging out. So I open the cabnet and what do I see?
Ovaltine.
For some reason Karen bought a canister of Ovaltine, and I make a cup and memories come back. When I was a kid, Ovaltine sponcered kids shows in radio and TV, like the Captain Midnight show. You could even save up the paper labels and send in for your secret decoder ring that glowed in the dark. Those were the days people were a little more self reliant, and if it snowed really deep, you put on tire chains. Every man back in those days kept a set of tire chains down the basement, just in case.
One winter bizzard when I was a kid, we got hit really hard, and dad went down the basement and got the chains. Out in the snow, we jacked up the old Pontiac Star Chief, (well, I jacked and dad watched the how much the tire came up) and when the tire had a bit of clearence under it dad put the chains around it. All was going well untill the rubber ring with the s-hooks broke.
I looked at dad, wondering what we were going to do, but dad didn't seem disturbed. He told me to go and get the roll of twine in the kitchen drawer. When I got back he'd taken out his little Case, and was whittling down a stick till it was about as long as he wanted. It was a pretty sturdy stick, and he'd notched around and broke it off just where he wanted. Then he took the twine.
He peeled off a very long length of it, and cut it off and made a big loop. Then he folded the loop in half, then in half again. Then he twisted it up slowly and carefully, untill he had a three twisted strand loop of jute twine. He ended up using that to secure the s-hooks that take up the slack on the tire chains. He put the half foot long stick thoough the twine, and twisted it untill he had the chains snugged. Then he took two short pieces of twine and tied the stick in place as it held the s-hooks. Dad ended up fixing on his tire chains with a worn little Case peanut, and jute twine.
Afterwards, mom made us a hot cup of chocolate Ovaltine.
I hadn't thought of that in decades, but sitting here looking at the blizzard that they say is a record since 1922, and tasting the cup of Ovaltine, it brought it all back like it was just last week. The image of dad reaching in his pocket while kneeling there in the snow, and taking out his little bone handle knife, just came up so strong. A Case peanut, some jute twine and a stick, and dad had that Pontiac moving. To me it seemed a miracle, but to dad it was just making do for the moment. And a small cutting tool let him do just that.
I think after I finish this cup of Ovaltine, I'll go round up my pocket knives and make sure they're all sharpened up and ready to go. You never can tell.
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